


Mothers And Fathers

by gala_apples



Series: An Alphabet of Teen Wolf Crossovers [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Torture, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Polyamory, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has known for quite some time now that he and his significant others won’t be having offspring. Probably a good thing, their combined mental health problems are enough to blow a nuclear family to smithereens.</p><p>But sometimes what you know isn’t what’s fact. Sometimes events from your past pop up on the proverbial doorstep, sixteen and pale with a sense of snark so robust Tony’d give a standing ovation. And when that happens you have to deal and be the best man you can be, despite being half monster.</p><p>Good thing his kid isn’t new to monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mothers And Fathers

**Author's Note:**

> This fic references Bruce's canonical child abuse, and the murder of his mother. It's not between Stiles and the Sheriff. They have a great relationship.
> 
> This was written for the marvel_bigbang, and paleogymnast did some lovely art, [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5039362)

Bruce is halfway through the latest John Scalzi book -light on the actual science part of sci fi, but great for political ramifications of multiple alien races- when someone walks into the living room of his suite. The fact that there was no knock first means it’s probably Tony. Except Tony always comes in with a jaunty attention-grabbing sentence rolling off his tongue. These feet come in silence. Nat, maybe? Bruce slips a bookmark into his paperback, sits up, and leaves his bedroom to see.

It is Tony. He’s looking at the art collection on Bruce’s wall, almost as if he’s interested. Unlikely, considering Bruce isn’t much either. Aesthetic is nice, but but hardly on his list of important things. The real reason Bruce bothers to hang the various pieces is because of what they symbolise. The art Pepper’s picked for everyone is different. Every piece Tony has is valuable. Profitable. Keep a piece of his art for a year and and you might make more flipping it than you would developing property. Natasha’s are truly aesthetic because Nat cares about beauty, when she can let herself. Thor’s pieces have the artists stories in them, paintings of ships sailing through epic storms and the like. Bruce’s are almost touristy.

He’s got a piece for every city he’s run to and Tony and Pepper and Nat have tracked him down to. Not like the army, or foreign intelligence, or SHIELD. The  
kind of running where maybe Bruce just wants to see if anyone cares enough to try to find him. It’s unhealthy. It’s not like he isn’t aware. He just gets low sometimes. So they track him through various unscrupulous means, and they find him, and when they do it stops feeling like the Hulk is trying to obliterate him from the inside out. From that point they make a vacation of it, and Pepper always finds somewhere to get art. 

Bruce is waiting for something like _I don’t care how much sand went up my ass, that motorcycle breaking down made that trip_ , but he doesn’t get it. He understands when Tony turns around, putting his back to the collection. Tony’s got an expression that Bruce hasn’t seen more than a few times, at least on him. It’s a face for breaking bad news. Bruce had hoped he was past that sort of thing, that his life had turned for the better when Natasha plucked him out of India and threw him into all this insanity. Apparently not.

“You know how JARVIS keeps tabs on everyone that hates us?”

Bruce tenses. There is no good end to that sentence, not if Tony is saying it. With Natasha and Steve, even with Clint, the mention of old enemies could just be a reminder on a meeting of the minds. _This person exists, let’s not forget that_. Tony’s different. JARVIS does a lot of Tony’s background thinking, as an extension of his brain. Tony doesn’t have to mull things over. If Tony’s bringing it up, it’s because there’s something to do about it.

“What is it?”

“General Dickbag.”

Bruce’s eyebrows pointedly don’t narrow. Calm through anger. Calm through anger. Calm through anger. This isn’t the first time Ross has shown up. It won’t be the last. Hulk won’t kill him, somehow aware that it would hurt Betty. Hulk still loves Betty, the first human ever kind to him, even if Bruce is sure he’ll never see her again.

“Clarify.”

“Look, I don’t know how to say this. Pepper’s the softener, not me.”

Bruce nods to acknowledge the point. Tony gets people to listen to him through sheer arrogant charm. He uses it like a battering ram. Pepper is much better at altering her persona to get the person across the table to submit. “I’m not expecting sweetness. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“So, some time in the nineties, while Cap was busy being a popsicle, and I was busy fucking everything in sight and being Stane’s sockpuppet, you were busy jerking off into a cup. I didn’t know the procedure’s supposed to take six months dedication. Did you? What am I asking, of course you do. You did it.”

Bruce is completely unsurprised that Tony’s checked into his past. He’s not sure when he turned into the kind of man that wouldn’t be angry about it. He just hopes Tony never does the same to Natasha. Every scrap of information she releases is hand picked so she’s not overwhelmed by ugly memories. The same could be said for all of them, mind you. But it’s different for Nat. Her child abuse is the thing of legends, not mere neglect or too much pressure or battery.

“When my mom died,” was murdered, he won’t say, but it’s not like Tony hasn’t already figured that out if he’s dug deep enough to find his donor history. “I wanted to make sure that a part of her would be in the universe. Even if I never got married and had kids. And then it happened, and now I can’t.”

“Good.” Tony makes a face. “Fuck. I don’t mean _good_ , I just mean I half had this theory that Ross had stolen a sample at Culver and used a time travelling X-Man to drop it off in the late nineties. It’s good your sperm is consensual. But that brings us to the real problem. Ross has found out, and he seems to want to run Abomination 2.0.”

Bruce’s mind spins to the night he broke Harlem. He doesn’t remember most of it, but he’s seen footage. Enough to last a lifetime, but of course Harlem wasn’t the first or last thing he destroyed. He’s about to destroy some kid, without even knowing they existed.

“Ross lined the right pockets. He found your kid, and he’s got about fifteen strategies for getting said kid to participate in seeing if The Hulk is hereditary.”

Hulk is screaming in his brain, _screaming_ about NO HURT KIDS. SMASH ROSS. SMASH ROSS FOREVER. Bruce is sure his eyes are glowing green. It’s the very best he’s going to do. He’s at the very limit of his control, and even a year ago he couldn’t have managed this.

Tony is pacing. Not in a rabbity way. He’s not scared of Bruce’s anger, even though he probably should be. Tony’s pacing because moving helps him think. Even when he’s stuck at a conference table his hands fly with every syllable. 

“Bruce. Brucie Bruce. Not gonna tell you calm down, this is something you totally should be pissed about. But we can solve this. Any combination of ‘we’ you want. I don’t really get secrecy, but Clint feasts on it like an all you can eat buffet, so I’ve heard of the concept. You can tell just the person that you want to fix this. Pepper can hire his dad, Ross knows better than to touch Stark Industries. Or SHIELD 2.0 can give them new identities. Or let’s be real, any of us could kill him. He’s basically a supervillain, not even Steve would lose sleep over it.”

“ _His_ dad? I’ve got a son.”

“Oh shit, yeah, I guess I forgot the details for the bigger picture.” Tony makes a face, then scrubs it away rubbing his hand over his goatee. 

“Tell me.” Bruce never thought he’d want to know. He marked anonymous donation for a reason, even though the pay per donation was a fraction of the open donation pay. But fuck. He wants to know. He has to know.

“I didn’t get JARVIS to run it all yet, I basically came straight here when JARVIS pinged me about Ross. Left a shareholders meeting, which should be fun to explain to Pepper later. But here’s what I’ve got. He’s your son. Well, biologically male, at least, don’t know about gender expression. Almost seventeen. He’s got god-awful Polish first and middle names, if he doesn’t have a nickname I’ll donate JARVIS to Hammertech. And he’s either a good kid or a rebellious raising hell asshole brat, because his dad’s the sheriff. Oh, and he’s about six hours away. Beacon Hills, NorCal.”

He could be there tonight. He could see the only relative he’ll ever have in a matter of hours. Bruce staggers to the nearest couch cushion and half collapses. A moment later there’s a hand on on the back of his neck, and a packet of freeze dried blueberries tossed onto the cushion beside him.

“I had a flask in my pocket in case it was the time travel one, but you probably don’t want it, right?”

Bruce sighs and drops his head lower. He’s not a father, the existence of a child doesn’t make him a father. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to know about everything he’s missed. If the boy looks like Mom, if he has her laugh, or the same way of flicking her hair out of her face, or if he hums along to the radio instead of singing. If he hates cake but loves pie, if he has sweaters in fifty different colours because he’s always cold, if he wears glasses. Everything. Tony strokes his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and Bruce gives himself just a moment of pride for not fucking at least one thing up. Six hours away is a boy that’s like _her_.

“Use your words,” Tony says, finally breaking the moment. Tony’s not as bad at affection as some would assume. Hell, he’s better than some in their relationship. He’s just exceptionally bad at silence. “I’m Tony fucking Stark. We’re the motherfucking Avengers. We can do anything you want. What do you _want_?”

Well, when he says it like that... “I want to be there. Now.”

Tony smirks. “I can do now. And for moral support?”

Bruce would trust any of them to do their best to keep him calm and happy. But certain things are better for each of them, and certain things wound one but not the others. Unless and until there’s a flat out emergency, Bruce would rather avoid putting Thor or Nat into a situation about seemingly abandoned children. He’d do the same for Tony, for that matter, but since Tony was the one to tell him that ship’s pretty much sailed.

“You. Steve or Sam.” 

Technically Sam works for Stark Industries. It’s a front, of course. A way to keep Sam in the green while his real work as an Avenger goes unpaid because they don’t technically belong to SHIELD, they respond to SHIELD. They don’t get health benefits. Rhodey’s kept on with the Air Force for the same reason. Point being, unless there’s another Winter Soldier sighting, Sam should be here. And the truth is, if he starts to freak out to the point of Hulking out, Tony’s not going to be much help. Bruce loves Tony, and knows it’s returned, but Hulk knows the suit and what it does. Tony and-or Ironman can’t get him to the lullaby place. Sam, on the other hand, is insanely soothing. No doubt that’s thanks to his time at the VA. And Steve’s extremely versatile, he can fulfill any role a crisis calls for, including gentling the wild beast.

“That it?”

“Hill could look more deeply into Ross’ plans?” Bruce is pretty sure Ross won’t kill the kid for saying no, especially not in front of his men, but abduction is a different story. They’ll need extraction plans.

“Can do!” Tony says with a half-assed salute. “And I see what you’re doing there. I’m picking up what you’re putting down. I dunno if Maria will tell Nat. Probably. But I won’t. Give us a head start to get there on the jet before Nat follows us on a bicycle.”

It seemingly takes eons to get the text that he can go board the jet, but realistically speaking, it’s probably quicker than it should be. They’ve definitely ruined someone’s plans to get a pilot so rapidly -the corporate jet isn’t just for Tony, after all- but Bruce selfishly doesn’t care. The sooner they arrive in Beacon Hills the better, and damn anyone else.

Inside, already seated and comfortable, are Sam and Thor. It’s been a few weeks since Bruce last saw Thor. He spends most of his time with his betrothed, whether she’s in New Mexico or travelling for academic conferences. Jane Bruce has met even less often, but he’s grateful she’s open minded. Apparently in Asgard it’s custom for engaged couples to occasionally sleep around, to keep their primary love in their heart. It doesn’t quite equate to the polyamory he and Pepper and Natasha and Tony have, nor is it merely an open marriage. From the way Thor’s struggled to explain it there are connotations you only get from being immortal aliens.

“You stalled until he could get here?”

Sam nods firmly. “You bet your ass we did.”

“I did not travel far, brother,” Thor offers. Nice of him, but that wasn’t Bruce’s prime concern.

“I appreciate the way you get down with yourself,” Sam says, “but I am straight as I fly. I cannot be the distraction you need.”

Bruce isn’t ignorant. He’s well aware that Sam and Steve and Clint are their straight Avengers. Tony was supposed to be the distraction, Sam or Steve the emergency back-up, since Natasha wasn’t an option. He says as much.

“Tony wanted to come. Pepper stopped him.”

“Railroaded?” Bruce asks. It’s not a negative, there’s a lot to be said for someone who can talk until Tony listens.

“Actually she grabbed him by the hair. It was an important meeting.” Sam grins. “He insisted on giving this to you though.”

Sam thrusts a Starkpad into his hands. One of the home use ones, that has a kernel of JARVIS on it. “It’s got everything he and JARVIS could find about the kid. He said to tell you look at as much or as little as you want, no one’s gonna play the raised eyebrow game either way. Maria’s brainstorming. Everyone else is out of the loop.”

Bruce glances at the screen and asks JARVIS to disable all pictures. He wants to see something of his mother’s face in the teen’s when he walks into his apartment, not flat on a tablet.

Thor drops into the seat beside him and claps a hand on his leg, just above his knee. “We will keep your son safe. No matter what.”

Bruce doesn’t have the heart to explain his lack of fatherhood to the man with the closest to normal childhood experience. Which is really fucking saying something, considering immortal alien being groomed for the throne, but the nurturing was there, at least. More than anyone else had. Bruce stays quiet, and a moment later his face is being cupped in large, calloused hands. Thor spends the rest of the flight kissing him. They’re light, dry kisses, meant to soothe, not arouse. Bruce loves the kindness in them, if not their necessity.

Soon enough the pilot starts their descent. Thanks to Thor, Sam hasn’t had to attempt a single calming technique. He’s used to boring trips with nothing accomplished though, the hunt for the Winter Soldier is always fruitless. Bruce has no idea where they’ve landed, but it’s not an airport. He’s grateful that the pilot had the foresight to have a cab waiting, it makes his geographical ignorance easier to deal with.

Thor and Sam both offer to come with him, back him up. Bruce thanks them, but declines. It might overwhelm the teen to have three men knock on his door. At the very least he’ll be quicker to call his dad to even out the playing field, and Thor isn’t great at recognising the authority of others. And then there’s the more selfish reason. Bruce wants the moment of introduction to be fully his own. The first glimpse of the boy’s face shouldn’t be shared. It should be _his_ moment to see if there’s any of his mother in the boy.

Bruce opens his window as soon as he gets in the cab. The driver’s got the air conditioning on full blast and it’s like sitting in a fridge. A few minutes later he realises he probably needn’t have bothered. He’s not going to be in the cab for long enough to get truly cold. Beacon Hills is painfully small compared to New York and Calcutta and Dhaka. It’s not a one main street town, but there’s no teeming masses shoving past each other on the sidewalks and raising the ambient noise level to ten. It’s as quiet as it is when he wakes up from a rampage in a forest or a warehouse, which is frankly unsettling.

When the cabbie pulls over, Bruce finds himself checking out the neighbourhood. It’s actually suburban; expensive but a level below swimming pools and each bedroom having its own bathroom. Bruce isn’t sure why he’s surprised. It’s a sheriff's salary, after all. He’s not sure why he cares, either. He knows as well as anyone that an idyllic suburban life can hide torment. Still, something in him sighs with relief.

The cost is a few bucks above minimum fare. Thanks to his sugar sweeties -as Clint once called Pepper and Tony, only for Natasha to do something unseen but so painful Clint keeled over- Bruce doesn’t even carry fives anymore, he has to make change. It’s that or use one of the credit cards provided to him by Tony, and that seems like a terrible idea. Invoking the Stark name makes him memorable, makes this street memorable. That’s the exact opposite of what Bruce is attempting with this visit.

Bruce gets up to the house before he realises he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. It’s too late to do anything about that now though. Standing silently on the step for five minutes as he composes himself is creepy. What if he casts a shadow through the curtain, or the neighbour notices? _I’m your dad and you might die_ is already enough of a bad first impression, he doesn’t want worse. He knocks.

“Yeah?” The greeting isn’t the most polite. It’s not the way Bruce’s mother raised him to act around inquiring citizens, which he still knows in his bones, even if the action of it has been worn away by decades of predominantly predatory strangers. But Bruce would take so much worse than _yeah_ from a mouth like that. Pale lips against milk white skin, thin and wideset; all that’s missing is the peach shade of lipstick she wore to make _him_ happy.

Still, he can’t just assume based on one feature. This boy is a brunet, Mom was firmly raven haired. Hell, Bruce doesn’t even know for certain he’s at the right house. Maybe the cabbie had incorrect directions. Maybe they’ve moved and JARVIS has old information. For all he knows the Stilinskis go to their family cabin and rent their house during the summer for extra cash. Before Bruce does or says anything he needs to make sure this is the teen. 

“Stilinskis?”

“Yeeeeah?” He repeats, like it’s so blatantly obvious that he’s a Stilinski that anyone having to question that is a blithering idiot. Despite his determination to not get attached, the tone is enough to make Bruce feel at home. If this teen isn’t a shade of Tony then Bruce’ll eat his shoes.

“Are you the sixteen year old?” Because if he really is like Tony, then the man will be right, and he’ll hate being called Przemysław. Butchering the pronunciation of something he already dislikes will be a bad first step, and Bruce is positive he won’t get it right on the first try. He didn’t think to try to find a guide online, too busy convincing Thor he was succeeding in distracting him.

“Uh, I didn’t order a pedo? Try the Stilinskis across town.” The plaid covered teen starts to close the door and that’s just not okay at all. In desperation Bruce throws his arm between the door and frame. It isn’t remotely close to enough pain to trigger his other half, and it gives him more time to do this right. As long as the door isn’t closed, he’s still got a chance.

“Scott! Bat!” The teen shouts. 

Ten seconds later a darker skinned boy is flanking Przemysław, barely a thud made as he leaps the last few stairs. “Do you want me to...”

His son seems to know exactly what Scott meant by trailing off. “No, not for now. Just gimme the bat.”

Bruce cannot possibly be hurt through being attacked with a baseball bat. It’s also pretty unlikely that getting battered will bring out the other guy. Maybe if it was a random thug, or an alien, or an inhuman. But the chance of his own son making it happen? Fathers attacking sons is the reason Hulk exists in the first place. Each time the Avengers get called it becomes more obvious to even his grim realist self that hurting children is the antithesis of the Hulk. 

So yeah, he’ll let Przemysław take a swing if he needs to, to feel safe. But it’s so much the better if they don’t escalate to that point. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here so you don’t get hurt.”

“Huh, and here I am thinking that’s what the bat’s for.” Przemysław doesn’t move an inch. He’s dead serious about defending himself, and it makes the shreds of Bruce that eventually gathered into the Hulk start bleeding. What has this kid faced that he’s so confident in protecting himself?

“I need to talk to you about some things, Pr-”

“Stiles, just say Stiles,” the teen interrupts. Tony’s right, if the sigh is anything to go by.

The darker skinned boy lightly bodychecks Stiles and hisses advice under his breath. “You think you should maybe not use your name?”

Stiles elbows his friend back, as he rolls his eyes. “He arrived at my house asking for the sixteen year old. I think the personal details ship has sailed, _Scott_.”

“That’s not my name,” the boy who’s already been called Scott twice shouts.

It’s time to drag this meeting back on track. Bruce doesn’t know who Scott is to Stiles, if they’re dating or friends. It doesn’t really matter. Tony can playfully argue for eternity and beyond with Pepper and Rhodey both. Bantering is not limited to people you’ve seen naked. If Bruce doesn’t divert this conversation who knows how long they’ll go on for? 

“Stiles, it’s important. We can talk out on the lawn in front of your neighbours if you want.” A second too late Bruce realises that could sound like he’s trying to lure Stiles out of the house so he can stuff him in the back of a van and flee the scene. Stupid of him. All three of his significant others have been kidnapped at least once, if not multiple times. Even Thor’s spoken of weird Asgardian traditions that sound a lot like Capture The Flag; Human Edition. He should know better how to not raise warning flags.

Thankfully Stiles doesn’t take it that way. No doubt the baseball bat is a confidence boost. Darkly Bruce flashes on a hundred ways he could be incapacitated regardless of the weapon. It’s one of those ‘they say’ societal knowledge tidbits that fathers realise how fragile and dangerous the world is when they see their child’s face for the first time. Bruce has had that knowledge since he watched his father kill his mother. Knowing that his son is in peril, is actively being plotted against isn’t any easier to bear for the long-won understanding though.

“I’d actually feel safer inside.”

Bruce acquiesces, closing the door gently behind him as Stiles and Scott retreat deeper into their home base. This might be Stiles’ house, but it’s clear that Scott belongs here too. He might not be able to have this conversation with Stiles alone. Not only would it probably unnerve Stiles if he requested time with him unaccompanied, Scott might refuse to leave. Besides, the likelihood of Stiles immediately telling Scott everything before Bruce has even given the cab driver directions away is close to one hundred percent. Might as well ask Tony to not bounce new concepts off JARVIS, or Natasha hide herself from Clint.

The Stilinski home is painted in light but masculine tones, all mint greens and denim blues and tans. The couch Stiles and Scott have claimed in the living room is navy corduroy, except for where the fabric has worn to white strings on the curved edges of the arm rests. Pepper would probably be horrified. Tony would either throw a thousand bucks down like nothing and tell them to get a new one, on him, or agree that worn out, worn in things are the best, surreptitiously fingering the broken hem of one of his ACDC t-shirts. Bruce just understands the priorities of money. Even in a middle class household objects can go by the wayside in the face of bills. He sits in one of the two opposing armchairs and notes vaguely that it is actually comfortable, even if the texture is worn away on most of the arm.

“My name is Bruce Banner. I don’t think I’ve had a chance to say that yet.” It’s a hard thing to say, knowing what come next. His name was one of the million things leaked in Steve, Nat, Sam and Maria’s big move. Most people know who the other side of the Hulk is now, if they ever cared enough to read a newspaper or online article. 

If Stiles places the name, he doesn’t exhibit it at all. Instead he tosses off his own greeting, with the appropriate level of sarcasm for being aware he’s been stalked. “You know we’re Stiles and Scott.”

“My name is Laverne!” Scott shouts.

Stiles twists to look at him as Bruce tries not to laugh. “That’s a girl’s name, asshat.” He turns back to face Bruce as Scott reacts to a vibration of his phone. Not that Bruce would count him out for paying attention. Everyone Bruce loves can multitask with electronics with the best of them. Who’s to say Scott can’t? “So, what’s your dire news? Did you revolutionise the vacuum and just had to go door to door to let the folks of this great nation know?”

Scott looks up from his phone. “Does it have to do with the Stark Industries jet on the edge of town?”

He and Stiles both ask _what?_ for very different reasons. Bruce thought Tony’s pilot would put the jet in invisibility mode, as so often suits SHIELD air transport. Stiles, unsurprisingly, is interested in the name drop.

“Yeah, it’s there. Derek was scouting.”

Bruce doesn’t ask what that means, exactly. With the way Stiles’ eyes are twitching, Bruce gets the feeling that Scott’s reply means something complicated. As he does them the favour of not inquiring, he decides to do himself the favour of not going into his alliances quite yet. It’s better to approach this from the human angle, not the superhero/villain angle. Because, despite General Ross’s pure human genes, he really is a monster on the level of Ultron or Loki or Zola. Having intent to destroy people’s lives for power, and treating the people beneath him like toys- how else could you classify that but villain?

“Did you know your parents had fertility problems?”

“Yeah. They ended up using some guy’s sperm and my mom’s egg. Turns out not the best decision in the world, since she died of a hereditary long term wasting disease, but what are you gonna do?” Stiles shrugs philosophically. “Can’t just not exist.”

“Well, uh. I’m that sperm donor?” Crap. That was literally the least smooth way Bruce could have said that. Every adult he knows could have pulled that off better. Freakin’ Vision could have done that better, and he’s a half-insane artificial construct. Bruce doesn’t bury his face in his hands and moan, but it’s a close thing.

“And you came looking for me, not the other way around. My life is a Jerry Springer episode.” Stiles groans, slumping to drop his head onto Scott’s shoulder.

Scott takes the theatrics lightly. He pats Stiles’ leg a few times, jovially without turning the gesture into a ‘man up’ bro move. “I’m pretty sure Erica will throw the first chair. If she comes back.”

Stiles mock laughs. “Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re such a freakin’ comedian, I just can’t stand it.”

“Think Derek would be Steve?” Scott continues.

“Well if Erica’s coming back, then so is Boyd. And tell me, who’s more Steve than Boyd? And Peter could be the insane guest who doesn’t realise that they’re completely fucking bonkers.”

“Peter’s the episode that doesn’t get released until the tell-all documentary, because he’s so insane the cops are legitly called,” Scott replies.

Bruce doesn’t want to break their happy chatter with reality. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Stiles looks a bit like his mom, and that should be enough, right? He shouldn’t impose, and impress himself on Stiles, just for glimpses of more similar expressions, to see if he has any of the mannerisms. He doesn’t have to ruin the teen’s daydreamed ideals of a perfect donator. He can leave now, and go and kill Ross so Stiles doesn’t have any interference. Just come up with a good excuse for dropping by in the first place, and leave. Surely he can come up with something. It wouldn’t be fair to let Stiles think the sarcasm chased him away.

Except that’s not what comes out of his useless uncontrollable mouth. Instead it goes with “Unfortunately, your mother wasn’t the only one with something potentially hereditary.”

“Holy shit you’re the Hulk.”

“What?” Bruce isn’t going to deny it, obviously. He just wants to understand the logic leap. It can’t be just that Stiles knows his name, that would have led to this a few minutes ago. No, it has to be some other kind of deduction. Bruce is getting the feeling under all the talk, his kid is smart. Another point for the Like Tony column.

“You came in Stark’s plane, you’re being extremely passive even though I’m being a jerk, and there’s something wrong with your genes. Yeah, you’re him, aren’t you?”

Bruce nods his head. Surprisingly the next thing isn’t a barrage of questions or a shriek to get out or even renewing his grip on the baseball bat leaned against the bottom of the couch. Instead Stiles turns to Scott. “How did you not smell that?”

“Excuse me, how was I supposed to smell rage demon? Uh, no offense,” Scott tags on belatedly.

“It’s not actually a demon, but none taken.” After all, Scott’s protest is completely fair. Even if Scott has the nose equivalent to Clint’s eyesight, Bruce is sure someone would have told him by now if Hulk smelled.

With Bruce’s words, Stiles turns his attention back to him. He sits up straight but doesn’t particularly tense up that Bruce can see. As far as Bruce can tell he’s not preparing for flight _or_ fight. Scott’s phone is still on the end cushion, it’s on but no one’s been dialed, whether 911 or a friend with a gun. Shit, Stiles’ dad is the Sheriff, they probably know a dozen adults with the courage to go against a monster.

“You’re not-”

“What, screaming?” Stiles interrupts. “Peeing myself? Look dude, you have no idea how much a multifaceted personality whose anger manifests dramatically doesn’t phase me. But that amount is literally zero percent.”

Bruce refrains from pointing out that what he’s just said is a double negative, that taken at face value Stiles’s said it phases him a lot. Bruce has the distinct feeling that Stiles would appreciate pedantic adults as much as Tony does. A fourth trait they have in common, since being unhealthfully nonchalant in the face of the Hulk is a clear third. Bruce would wonder if Tony’s conning him and this is actually his own bastard child, if it wasn’t for two things. For one, Tony would never do that to him, they all have sensitive areas when it comes to breeding and children. For another, there’s his mother’s mouth on this boy’s face.

Stiles crosses his arms, plaid cotton inching up into his elbows. “Are you here for something specific though? I mean normally I’d think rare blood type transfusion, or organ donation. Marrow. Something to snatch from me, that only I have. But seeing as you’re the Hulk, I don’t think terminal illness is your thing.”

It’s not fair of him to be hurt by Stiles’ statement. If Tony had found out casually and Ross hadn’t been a factor, Bruce doesn’t know that he would have reached out. Technically he does want something from Stiles, even if that is only to keep him safe by stealing his innocence about the world. Bruce takes a breath and pushes the sting of the comment into his ever-present well of rage and pain. It barely causes a ripple, being so full already.

“No. Indestructible,” Bruce says evenly. All of his lovers would recognise the tone and try to get him to open up for more relevant applications of comfort, though the varying personalities would lead to very different strategies. But Stiles and Scott don’t know anything about him, and they certainly don’t owe him anything. He’s the adult here. It’s his responsibility to be completely level until he leaves.

Stiles sighs deeply. “That would be nice.”

Bruce isn’t sure what he wants to talk about less; how it isn’t nice to have his consciousness ripped from him and to wake up having to figure out what he’s done, or why Stiles sounds desperate to have the ability. Which is bad. Has the potential to be terrible, truly. If Stiles wants to be a Hulk, he really is like Blonsky, which means he really might be the next Abomination.

“I wish I could say my only purpose here was just to meet you. But it’s not. You’re in danger.”

The words provoke two odd reactions. Scott looks down at his lap so all Bruce can see is his hair, and crosses his arms to tuck his hands under his armpits. And Stiles just laughs.

“Scott, stop the presses! I’m in danger.” Bruce can practically see the tildes around the word, making it something ridiculous. Bruce is starting to be glad Mr Stilinski isn’t home. If Stiles has this harsh exterior because he’s being abused, the Hulk just might kill the man.

“Stiles, that’s not funny!” Scott shouts, still firmly curled up on himself.

Stiles shrugs. 

Bruce continues with his explanation, because what else can he do? He doesn’t have the ability to pry for information so jauntily that the subject barely cares they’re spilling secrets, like Tony. He can’t badger brilliantly and incessantly until people fold, like Pepper. He doesn’t come close to having Natasha’s skill set. If danger is somehow normal in Stiles’ life, the best Bruce can do is hope Stiles knows how to roll with it until he escapes it. “I don’t know how, but the General found out about you.” 

He knows how he became the Hulk is on the internet. SHIELD had to have its precious knowledge in order to build a cage for him on the original helicarrier, and files that end up online don’t go away. Ross is one of two predominant dark figures in his origin story. Anyone who’s read his Avengers wikia page knows that much at least, though there’s a fierce and unending edit battle about Bruce Banner’s childhood home life. But maybe Stiles _hasn’t_ read the article, because once again the name drop doesn’t seem to ring a bell.

“General Ross. He contracted me to work on the super soldier serum, encouraged me to test it on myself. And let’s just say he cared a little too much about how I turned out.”

“We know an obsessive adult or two,” Scott offers supportively. “They suck.”

“And I’m your bio-kid, so I can do it too? That’s bunk. Total bunk. Trust me, I’d know if I could Hulk out when I was super pissed. Not just normal pissed, you have no idea the kind of shit that’s gone down around me. There are times if I could have been punch-a-giant-flying-metal-centipede-in-the-face pissed, I would have been.”

Bruce ignores the vast warning signs in that comment and tries to clarify. “Stiles, it’s not something that you start off with. The serum he has could kickstart it. The serum reacts differently to different people’s blood. Ross wanted more Captain Americas-”

“But he’ll settle for you,” Stiles interrupts. “And since my blood is half your blood, he thinks I’m a good backup.”

Bruce feels so fucking weary when he thinks about the lengths the General would go to get his army of super soldiers. Not even angry. Just exhausted. Never mind his son. He wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

“It’s a lot harder to touch me now. There’s so much media on me... Doesn’t matter if the Hulk’s the third favourite Avenger in polls, or if he’s being sued for breaking a bridge. Either way someone’s looking for a comment, so someone’s making sure I’m still there. But it would be very easy to get to you. Kidnap you, or even just convince you it’s a good idea to be all you can be. Others have fallen for the concept.” Not only Blonsky and Steve, though those are the obvious examples. Wanda and Pietro, and all the unsuccessful attempts before them. The amputees and soldiers Killian duped in the months before attacking Pepper. Every volunteer for Project Centipede, which still lives on through Deathlok, if no one else. 

“Yeah, how about no? I already _got_ the ‘you can be bigger stronger faster’ offer, and I turned it down.” Stiles accompanies the statement with rolled eyes, like the thought that he’d want to be something else is absurd.

“He already contacted you?” Shit. Bruce did not prepare for this option in the least. What if- 

“Nope. General Whatever’s not the only avenue to being kickass, duh.”

Bruce doesn’t know what to make of that. The only thing that makes sense is that someone at his high school offered him steroids. Stiles has the body type for a handful of different sports, he might be on six different teams. He won’t be giving him a don’t do drugs lecture though. There’s no way Stiles wants to hear it, and if the teen starts tuning him out altogether Bruce won’t be able to put a safety plan in place.

“You don’t seem upset.” It’s an easy place to start. It’s a perceptional statement, so Stiles shouldn’t feel like some stupid stranger is telling him what’s right or wrong.

Stiles rolls his eyes again. “Upset, sure. Once the bribery doesn’t work the military douche is gonna get nastier, no doubt. No one ever just pisses off when asked. It’s just, it’s not like he’s the first older guy that wants to kick my ass.”

“If we count the Alphas it’s seven,” Scott chimes in.

“Dude, are we counting the Alphas? I thought you decided to let the Hale pack deal with it?”

“If Derek asks for our help, we’ll come.”

Stiles snorts. 

“The Alphas? Is that a gang?” Bruce wouldn’t have thought Beacon Hills was big enough for one, but maybe. It’s not like he’s a stranger to suburban violence, after all.

Scott and Stiles both laugh. “Oh man, you’ve got no idea.”

“So yeah, at least seven. More, if you count the redshirt friends of Mr Argent.”

Obsessive adults, Stiles wishes he could be protectively violent, no reaction to the threat of danger, laughing in the face of gangs and people who want to beat him up... Pieced together, the only thing that makes much sense is either the Sheriff or one of his Deputies taking gang warfare too personally, and dragging others into his off-badge battle. It could even be the source of the ‘bigger faster smarter’ thing, if Stiles has been offered drugs so he can go to school and attend sporting events during the day, and stay awake to fight crime at night. It sounds ridiculous on the face of it, but it would hardly be the first time that adults have been so unapologetically abusive to kids in the name of duty.

Bruce isn’t going to change tactics. Not today. He’ll make sure Stiles really comprehends how much of a threat Ross is, and then he’ll leave. He’ll go home and have Tony and JARVIS and Maria and Fury and Vision and fucking _everybody_ help him figure out what exactly goes down when the street lights turn on in Beacon Hills. And then Bruce’ll make it so that nothing threatens his son again, whether that’s through legal maneuvers, or vigilante justice, or straight up Hulk Smashing-repulsor blasting-Mjolnir throwing brutal mayhem. He might not talk to Stiles again for as long as he lives -he’ll let the teen live his life as he wants, without feeling beholden to a stranger- but Bruce will by god make certain that it’s a safe life. 

“You should figure out a strategy for when Ross comes. He will come. You understand that, right?” Bruce wants to offer to stay, but Stiles barely let him in the house as it is. Not to mention he seems entirely self-sufficient. Offering would probably get him a range from amused dismissal to being creeped out by perceived coddling.

“Remember when I said safer inside? That’s so no neighbour can see this.” Stiles elbows Scott. Scott, whose face transforms almost instantly.

Bruce has seen too much to startle easily. The part of him that’s the Hulk barely even acknowledges Scott’s sudden extra hair and changed brow shape and fangs. Instead it’s all curiosity. He lets Stiles break the silence first, already sure he’s like Tony in this way too, and will say more in rambling than he ever could being interrogated.

“Werewolves. All my friends are werewolves.” Stiles makes a face. “Man, when I thought about telling my dad that, I never thought it would be you.”

Bruce carefully doesn’t react to being called a father. What kind of role he’ll have in Stiles life, if he’ll ever even see him again, is not the conversation they’re having right now.

“I know five- seven if Erica and Boyd ever come back. Best friend, obviously,” Stiles bro-claps Scott’s back a few times, much harder than necessary, but Bruce would guess Scott can take it as well as Thor can, “and another friend. And an enemy, but his girlfriend likes me, and a guy who owes me because I saved his life, and a older man who is creepily attracted to me. I think they’d rally, if some government guy tried to kidnap and perform experiments on me. I mean, last time I got kidnapped and thoroughly beaten up they didn’t, but to be fair Jackson was an evil serial killing flying lizard at the time, and everyone was trying to stop him.”

“I apologised!” Scott protests.

“Plus he apologised,” Stiles tacks on.

Bruce was not expecting werewolves to be the answer. He wasn’t even expecting Inhumans to be the answer, and at least he knew that variant of humanity existed. But the same warning flags for danger and abuse and a terrible situation in life, reframed in a Buffy The Vampire Slayer mode- that makes sense. It’s certainly not ideal, but life rarely is. And one thing’s for certain; General Ross’s military standard guns won’t have silver bullets. Stiles’ friends will be able to fight for Stiles almost as invulnerably as the Hulk could. Shit, all Stiles needed to feel protected from a dubious stranger at the door was Scott and a baseball bat.

Stiles mistakes Bruce’s blank expression of so rarely felt relief for something else. “I’m sorry dude. You wanted to rescue me, right? Help me brainstorm a way to fight a spooky grown up? I could pretend to be scared, if you want?”

Scott elbows Stiles with accidental force that pushes him into the armrest. Stiles doesn’t wince, clearly used to supernatural roughplay. Scott frowns at him. “Stop it. You think my dad would run here if he thought I was in danger?”

“No. But you have a peice of shit father, and I have an oddly helpful sperm donor. Apples aren’t oranges. You’ve daydreamed about punching him in the face. I stopped thinking about it as soon as I Wiki-spiralled about closed donation.” Stiles has said all this turned towards Scott, but with no attempt to whisper. He angles back to Bruce. “Look, you’re gonna have to give me a minute. Actually, do you need a moment too? To figure out how many shits you give?”

“Excuse-”

Stiles talks over his partial request for clarification. “Like you came here, but you thought I was screwed without Avenger aid. It’s not like you were like ‘damn, I wanna see what egg met my sperm’ and hopped a bus. So now that I don’t need Scarlet Witch and The Falcon and that wicked fucking magic hammer, are you fucking off back to the Avenger tower? Did you even think about it?” 

Bruce doubts telling Stiles he did his best to not think about it, up to and including making out with Thor, will go over well. He switches tactics. “It’s not just what we want. Your parents picked closed donation for a reason.”

“Are you kidding? My dad loves your work. The last time he drank in a bar he almost had to arrest himself for punching a guy that said you were a monster. There was a thing on the news.”

“I’m glad to hear that. But there’s a difference between your dad wanting to meet and greet the Hulk and wanting Bruce Banner to be part of the family.”

“You are beating around the bush. A lot. Just be straight up with me. Do you wanna hang out, or do you wanna fuck off?”

Oh god. This wasn’t how Bruce thought the day was going to go when he got up this morning. Not even in the same fucking realm. But there’s really only one answer. “I want whatever you’re okay with.”

Stiles looks at Scott. 

“He’s not lying,” Scott offers. Bruce wonders if being a human polygraph is a generic werewolf skill, or if he’s just got Pepper and Natasha levels of being able to read people.

Stiles claps his palms together, and sort of shakes hands with himself. “Great. So that’s great. You need to go now though.”

“What?”

“I’m down with pursuing something. I am. But I need some time and you can’t stay here while I take it.”

“Why?” Surprising Bruce, it’s Scott who’s asking. From what little Stiles has already said, Bruce would guess a whole heaping spoonful of fatherly abandonment issues. Bruce is half tempted to say welcome to the club, kid, and throw him at Tony, or Loki the next time he comes to fight.

“I can give you three reasons off the top of my head,” Stiles begins. He steeples his fingers, but can only keep them still for a few moments before beginning to rhythmically tap his fingertips together. “One; my dad. Not what you think, I wasn’t lying about the you’re awesome to him thing. He doesn’t know that my life’s danger level is on average a six out of ten, a solid amber on the terrorism scale, if not orange. Telling him that you came to find me because of Ross will stress him out and I’m not down with that. Now, once I come up with a plausible lie, like I got curious and went looking and got around the system by virtue of my hacker semi-friend Danny, then I can ‘meet’ you for the ‘first time’.”

Bruce smiles to himself. Stiles has a hacker friend. Tony will be happy, when Bruce spends a pathetically large amount of time describing this afternoon to the last minute detail.

“Two; again, don’t get me wrong. I’m not actually scared of you. But if Derek or Peter startle you and you Hulk out, your cover is blown. The longer you stay the more likely it is that Derek’s gonna creep, and he can be very startling when he creeps.”

“I’m surprised he isn’t doing it right now,” Scott agrees.

“Third, but not last, I love my real dad. Like, a lot. Like Lydia Martin levels. Not that you know what that means, but trust me, it’s a lot. And I need time to figure out how to make sure that he doesn’t think that I think that biology is more important. Because I’m sure you’re great, or whatever, but no dude. Just no.”

Bruce wonders if this Lydia is a werewolf too. If she’s the person who offered him the chance to be ‘bigger stronger faster’. If so, why he said no. If Stiles’ apparently intense love of her was what got him to follow her into the madness of being a hero. It’d be the first time his son has a trait of his, not Tony’s. Despite the curiosity Bruce says nothing. It’s a bit early to be interrogating him about his life choices. 

“You’re a human being, so I assume you have a cell phone?”

“Yes.” He even uses it sometimes now, unlike the early days when every gift of Tony’s made him uncomfortable for reasons that were hard to explain, and mostly weren’t about materialism.

“So give me a number to get you at, and I’ll call you when I’ve got my rules and regs and responsibilities and guidelines laid out. Oh, and in case you’re a worrier under that rubbery green armour? This isn’t me blowing you off. I have a much less subtle way of blowing people off, mostly recognisable by exasperation and rolling eyes and significant lack of asking for contact info.”

Bruce is fairly sure Stiles rolled his eyes at him at least twice, but he gets what the teen is saying. Stiles isn’t a _thanks but no thanks for now maybe later_ Pepper, or a _so well crafted you don’t even know you been blown off_ Natasha. He’s a _will you get out of my face already_ Tony. 

He gives Stiles his number, barely refraining from telling him he can call any time, literally any time at all. And then he leaves, shaking Scott’s hand at the doorstep when it’s offered. It’s what Stiles wants, and if Stiles is ever going to want Bruce in his life, he needs to feel respected. 

Bruce walks back to the jet, needing the time to clear the ripples from his well of anger. It doesn’t matter if Stiles isn’t fair to him. He’s the adult. He can’t do anything about the fact that Stiles has seen his mother die too. It’s impossible to know what house or building Stiles was held captive in, and it’s not appropriate to smash every building in town. Bruce breathes deep and walks and wonders how many places in this town have hurt his son, whether it’s places he’s gotten injured or terrified by supernaturals or thuggish supernatural fighters, or places with memories of his mom. Bruce doesn’t doubt Tony’s word, Pepper would find a way to employ Sheriff Stilinski to get Stiles safely away, probably via Happy’s security team. But if Stiles truly loves Lydia and Scott as much as it looks like he does, Bruce also doesn’t doubt Stiles would run away and live with his pack.

There’s no one lurking around the jet. Wherever Derek is, whatever kind of sentry role he has, he’s moved on from staring at the outside of a parked plane. Nor is he inside, testing werewolf skills against a Norse alien repudiator of the throne and an ex-military man capable of flight. It’s just the two men in question. Thor leaps to his feet, so Sam stays back like he’ll be that easily overwhelmed.

“Must we battle at once?”

“I’m sure you would have heard the green guy calling if that was true,” Sam says, settling Thor in a single sentence. “How’d it go, man?”

“He’s not like her at all, really. Unless that’s how she was when she was younger, happier, before she met him. I don’t know. There’s no one to ask. My grandparents, I never even met them.”

“That’s tough,” Sam says, completely sincerely. Bruce feels like a bit of a shit for not knowing Sam’s family situation. He’d feel worse, except despite his seemingly endless capacity for negative feelings, his attention span only allows in so much, and thoughts of every lost family member are swirling around his head like ghosts.

“But he’s great. His name is Stiles.”

“Actually, it’s-”

Bruce cuts Thor off. “Everyone calls him Stiles, at his request. I’ll be doing the same.”

“So what’s the strategy, Bruce,” Sam asks.

“We can go.” He can feel both men judging him. It’s not as though he’s not aware he made a huge stink through Tony acting as mouthpiece about getting to Stiles’ side immediately. Rationality has always deserted Bruce when he needs it most. No doubt Sam and Thor are wondering what’s changed. “He’s more protected than you’d think. There’s proof, but I don’t want to spend the whole flight convincing you, then having to do it again.” 

“Maria’s definitely going to want to know what she didn’t figure out,” Sam tells him.

The flight back is quiet. Bruce spends the time reclined, thinking of progressively outlandish things he and Stiles could do one day, if the teen’s reasons weren’t a brush off and Bruce really can come back. It’s a thin strand of hope, but more than he thought he could come out of this situation with. Sam and Thor are both reading, Thor a paperback, Sam on the StarkTab. He would guess it’s Maria’s planning, except there’s no way Sam didn’t read it while Bruce was gone, and there’s only so much he can do with the same information.

It’s when they land that things get loud. Tony, Pepper, and Wanda are all waiting when they deplane, because of course no one kept it a secret from Scarlet Witch like they should have. No one runs forward to greet them, they haven’t been gone that long, but Tony does pull him into a hug when they get closer. 

It’s not the hug that tells Bruce Tony’s off. Tony can be affectionate. It’s when Sam goes to give him the tablet back and Tony snaps “Don’t hand me things! I don’t like being handed things.”

It’s a quirk of Tony’s that they’re used to in public, but only comes out around lovers and friends when he’s particularly anxious. Such as now, apparently. Sam rescinds the electronic without comment, and Bruce has a second to contemplate the foolishness of leaving all three with strong unresolved parental issues alone together. Wanda’s practically vibrating. Then Thor takes a step forward and claps his hands on Bruce’s shoulder. “Tell us of your son.”

Bruce has to make a decision here. He can tell his lovers and friends about Stiles’ unique life or he can keep it to himself. Both have their cons. Bruce doesn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from the only people who have truly accepted him. Not to mention they won’t understand why he left Stiles to fend for himself if Bruce doesn’t explain he has protection. But who will really believe him? Thor, maybe. For all Bruce knows one of the worlds Thor knows as a branch of Yggdrasil has werewolf-like beings. He’s aware dark elves and dwarves are already a thing. Not to mention giant mecha robots that burp fire. Can he really base this reveal only on the idea that Thor might be on his side? Can he really justify not revealing anything?

“If he doesn’t want to talk about his family he doesn’t have to,” Wanda announces into the silence. Everyone immediately agrees, though some look like they don’t get it.

“No, it’s fine. I just- It’s gonna take a minute.”

“Let’s go and sit then,” Pepper offers in her boss voice, a tone that’s entirely friendly but says something is not an option. It’s half a dozen tones beneath the _Tony Stark so help me god_ tone, so hopefully she’s not too riled.

The tower is absolutely lousy with clusters of couches. Tony Stark does a lot of hosting. Pepper Potts does a lot of hosting. Of course they have classy layouts that can seat twenty comfortably. What’s the alternative? Being written up derisively in a tabloid for terrible decor? Bruce sits, and they gather around him. Now he just has to actually _say_ something.

“He’s a lot like you,” Bruce starts. He doesn’t say Tony’s name, but he’s looking at his boyfriend, and no one in the open concept room doesn’t get the message.

“I would have thought I’d know if there was another genius billionaire playboy philanthropist out there.” 

“You’re in a stable relationship now, you’re not a playboy,” Steve offers. Never was Bruce as surprised as when Steve took finding out about a polyamorous relationship calmly. Turns out though that they weren’t Steve’s first trip to the rodeo, and he did all his misunderstanding of the concept when he found out about Peggy Carter loving Angie Martinelli and Daniel Sousa at the same time.

“Maybe he meant teenage alkie orgy lover,” Wanda rhetorts. She still doesn't much like Tony, though she gets that he’s reformed in the same way she has.

“He’s a loud talkative asshole who’s reckless and fearlessly loyal when it comes to his friends.”

“Doesn’t sound like the best personality to meet a military man,” Pepper offers diplomatically. Half the room remembers Tony going after the ex Senator Stern on live television. And if not that altercation, there have been a dozen more. Tony doesn’t care who he smacks into the dirt in his quest to be right, and Bruce already knows from one afternoon of conversation that Stiles doesn’t either. Even if Ross didn’t have dark motives, even if he was just some random military man who demanded respect purely for being in the military, Bruce wouldn’t trust Stiles around him.

“Definitely not.”

“But you didn’t rescue him while he figures this out?” There’s a bit of disapproval in Wanda’s voice. It’s not like any of them leave teenagers to hang dry in a crisis, but Wanda in particular has a soft spot for the post puberty set.

“Not still on the plane,” Sam confirms.

“Stiles’ friends are equally fearlessly loyal and they’re- From what I can tell they’re up the task of protecting him.” He’s still dancing around the words, the _facts_ , but maybe it’ll be enough. Maybe Bruce won’t have to go all the way down this road.

Maria scoffs. “Some kids?”

“They’re not just-” Bruce scrubs his face with his palms. When he pulls his hands away they’re still all staring. To them he must seem mysteriously calm. “They’re Inhumans.”

“All of his friends are Inhumans?”

“Are you going to contact Skye?”

Bruce amends his previous statement. “They’re sort of Inhumans. Not close enough that Skye’d want them on her roster, I don’t think.”

Sam tilts his head a little. “What’s ‘sort of’ mean?”

“You’re not going to believe my observation. It’s strange.”

“Which one of us, exactly, won’t believe you?” Tony takes a sip of the vodka on rocks Bruce didn’t even see him pour. “The CEO who was kidnapped and experimented on until she could literally breathe fire? The brilliant man who has AIs and robots for best friends, who built himself a mechanical heart out of gun scraps, who’s flown through a hole and seen an alien race? The asthmatic turned super solider who time traveled through seventy years the hard way? The-”

If Bruce doesn’t cut in, Tony is likely to list exactly how every single person in the room is strange. It’ll be a reach for Sam and Maria, but Bruce has no doubt that Tony has an way of skewing things offensively enough to make their relatively normal lives seem fucked up. Better he interrupt now. “Okay. You’ve made your point. Earlier today I met a werewolf. Stiles’ best friend.”

There’s a wide range of reactions. Maria’s completely unphased. For all Bruce knows Hill and Fury have met Packs in the past. Sam needs to sit down. Thor seems confused, like maybe werewolves are called something else on Asgard and the All Speak isn’t quite translating properly. Tony starts snickering like Bruce has dropped a particularly good punchline, and then when he realises it’s not a joke he laughs even harder.

“And you think they’ll protect him?” Pepper cuts through the noise with the most important question. Trust her to keep everyone on point, despite chaos. 

“They’re his pack. You or Nat would protect me, right?”

“I guess your son _is_ having orgies like Tony, then,” Wanda murmurs. Unsurprisingly, her brain is the least broken by a sudden seismic shift in reality.

It’s not long after that that the party breaks up. Pepper has an endless list of priorities and Tony no doubt wants to wash off the false skin of businessman with a coat of axel grease. Steve and Wanda both have Avengers 2.0 stuff to work on. Maria also has a job to do. There’s nothing that any of his friends are doing that Bruce wants to join in on, so he heads for his suite. If he can stop thinking about the day’s events he might even be able to enjoy a chapter of Scalzi.

It’s immediately apparent he will not be able to enjoy a chapter of his book.

It’s rare that Natasha cares about being lied to. It comes with the career. It’s hard to model perfect deception day in and day out and not expect it in return. Or at the very least respect good efforts at it. Sometimes, though. Sometimes she cares. And when she cares, she cares in the way Tony cares about robots or Sam about veterans or Steve about Bucky. All encompassingly. Unrelentingly. It’s why Bruce isn’t surprised that she’s in his room. 

“You said you couldn’t have kids.”

“I can’t.”

“Przemysław says different.”

Bruce is sure that if he looked up the name in a compilation book her pronunciation would be dead on. Natasha doesn’t make mistakes like that.

“I didn’t even know he existed. And it’s not like I am capable of it now. Neither is Tony, thanks to his choices with the palladium. And Jane might as well be, considering Midgardians can’t bear Asgardian sperm.”

Natasha doesn’t react well to his explanation. Her face flushes like it never does when she’s exerting herself mid-battle. “Jane and I are not the same! You and I are not the same. There is a hell of a lot of difference between can’t have them now and couldn’t ever!”

Bruce drops his face into his hands. Other people’s anger is just as exhausting as his own. Part of the reason he stays away from Scarlet Witch. She’s never quite gotten over Ultron, and what the AI did to her brother. Never even entered the same galaxy as gotten over, actually. “I’m sorry you feel misled. It was never my intention. When I said it I meant it. Barrenness was pushed on you. I did it to myself.”

She’s on her feet and between himself and the door before he even sees her stand. Bruce spins to face her again. When she’s sure she has his gaze, Natasha shakes her head once. 

“We’re not doing this yet.”

Bruce doesn’t try to stop Natasha from leaving. It’s not that he couldn’t, Hulk can be even more persuasive than Black Widow can. It’s that he can’t. His not liking her feelings doesn’t give him the right to try to change them. It’s one of the basic tenets that keep the four of them together, mostly happily. All of them are too broken and rebuilt to just drop pieces of themselves on another’s whim. When she’s ready to attempt talking a second time, she will. Until then, it’s his job as a respectful boyfriend to back the hell off.

***

Bruce isn’t sure who called Clint. It’s too easy to say Natasha. Yes they’re the kind of friends who would be there for each other at a moment’s notice, a friendship to an extent that Bruce has never had before. He can’t count Tony. Friendship is platonic, and Tony’s never made the slightest attempt to hide his desires, while cheerfully accepting their one-sided nature (until they weren’t). Of course Clint knows about Natasha’s infertility, there’s a reason the youngest Barton child is named Nathaniel. But Natasha’s not the type to admit to distress. Others have to notice it. She would never call Clint here.

In the kitchen there are a few bead organisers stacked beside the paper towels. What they actually contain is various flavours of tea. Bruce quite likes a wide variety of flavours. It’s hard not to, when you’ve done as much travelling as he has. Now that he can afford to import whatever he wants to, there’s no reason not to keep a large collection.

The first few times Tony joined him for a cup, Bruce kept waiting for the punchline. Something bigger than a mere suggestion that tea might keep the Other Guy chill enough to stay inside. It kept not coming, and eventually Bruce realised the simple truth of it. Tony likes organic drinks. Whether it’s shakes with twenty different bitter ingredients livened up with mango or blackberry, freshly pulped farmer’s market orange juice, or a blend of tea shipped from Brazil or Cambodia, Tony drinks natural beverages like there’s no tomorrow.

“Pick your mug,” Bruce orders. He knows what he wants to drink. He knows what he’s going to build Tony to drink. He just doesn’t know what size of infuser to pluck out of the drawer for his boyfriend. Sometimes Tony wants a normal cup of tea, the size that would fit on a saucer. Sometimes he wants a wide mug full. One time he literally gave Bruce a rinsed out 44oz Slurpee cup to fill, which drained the kettle in one go. Up until that point Bruce hadn’t even imagined anyone at Stark Industries drank something as lowbrow as a Slurpee.

“He’s coming for you,” Tony doesn’t say it in a normal tone. He says it like a horror movie, like Bruce is the boat and Clint’s the shark. Like a threat, but above that like a joke visible from space.

“Yeah. I figured. Cup, please?”

Tony hands him a respectfully tall but quite tapered mug. Bruce has infusers that wouldn’t even fit past the lip of the ceramic. He picks an appropriate one then closes the implements drawer.

“I could try to distract so you could evade, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be swayed. Considers this a mission, probably.”

Bruce doesn’t reply, just keeps building up Tony’s drink. It’s going to taste luscious by the time he’s through. David’s Tea ain’t got nothing on him.

Tony continues, entirely unphased by the onesided conversation. “He tends to not react well when Natasha’s hurt. Hence him abandoning Mrs Tractor and three Junior Tractors.” 

At that Bruce does put the spherical lattice down to face his boyfriend. “You know I didn’t mean-”

“Hey,” he replies quickly, with a hand gesture thrown in. “I’m Tony Stark, King of Fuckups. I get it. Nat’s less used to mistakes. She’ll give you a chance to grovel in a few days, once she’s ready, and you will, and it’ll be okay. But don’t buy her strawberries.”

Bruce huffs a laugh. “That’s Pepper, not Natasha.”

“If you feed Nat strawberries she can’t make out with Pepper. And tell me, why would you want to deprive us of that?”

Bruce laughs out loud at Tony’s rejoinder. Tony’s always been the best for putting him in a better mood.

Thankfully, Clint doesn’t interrupt their tea time. He waits until Tony’s wandered off with a head brimming full of possibilities for a modification for a car of Happy’s to slink into the communal kitchen.

“I’ve been informed you have a teenager?”

Bruce gets that Clint’s trying to start with a joke, but it doesn’t much feel like one. “That’s up to him.”

“No it’s not.”

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want a respected teammate and friend to think he’s shirking his responsibility, but it’s Stiles’ choice to pick his level of involvement. “Clint, it really is.”

“No. It’s not. You don’t have a teen. You have a kid, with opinions. And yeah, maybe that teen has opinions about you versus the dad who raised him, and thinks he needs to cast all his loyalties in one direction. But I am telling you the kid part will never forget the biological father respecting his wishes. He’ll be thirty, forty, fifty, and he’ll still remember that you didn’t care enough to fight him. And that will fuck him up. You have a teen, fucking deal with it.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

Clint shrugs. “Deal with it,” he repeats, tone less heavy.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s not my problem. I can’t tell you. There’s no Wikihow for this. Figure out what you need so you can support him, and do it.”

Clint’s an asshole, Bruce decides. He sits on his couch, silent and still, and contemplates how much of an asshole Clint is. And then he gets JARVIS to find Stiles’ phone number. Because just because the archer’s the worst therapist in the world doesn’t mean he’s wrong.

“Hello,” Bruce says once Stiles answers. He keeps his tone mellow. On the off chance that Stiles has forgotten he’s a monsterous rage creature, no need to remind him with a sharp voice.

“Hello? Bruce? Did you just figure out it was a fluke, a mislabelled file or vial or whatever, and now that I’m no one want nothing to do with me? Because that would be pretty typical of my life.”

How was that the first thing to come into Stiles’ mind? Maybe Clint is right about him not understanding the teenage brain. “What? No. Not at all. And I think that bad info on my part would be lucky for you, not a disappointing conclusion.”

Stiles comments, “anyone ever tell you you have criminally low self esteem?”

Bruce snorts. “Most of the people I know at this stage of my life, honestly.”

“Well, good. At least you know you have areas for improvement.”

Once upon a time the comment’d be the source of bitter laughter. But Tony and Pepper have him doing better in that regard, and besides, it’s pretty obvious Stiles doesn’t mean it as a barb. He’s made his feelings about Hulk clear already and he’s not a person for subtlety. If Stiles thought he sucked, or that the Hulk was the barrier to them bonding, he’d say that.

“So if you’re still my bio-dad, it wasn’t a mistake, why exactly are you calling when we decided I’d make the first move?”

Fucking Clint. Fucking shit. Bruce takes a breath to submerge the sudden annoyance into his well of anger where he can better handle it. “I might have been convinced by a father I know that it’d be better this way?”

“Show authoritative loving, right? Am I right?” Stiles persists like he truly wants to be confirmed correct, but doesn’t give Bruce the chance to speak. “When Scott’s mom divorced that a-hole she took this single parenting course and it was all about authoritative loving. And I mean Scott and Scott’s mom are great, but that’s a really different situation to you popping out of the woodwork. So how about you tell your father friend to shut up? Since he doesn’t really know anything, when you think about it.”

Bruce sighs into the phone. It should be reproachment for insulting an adult friend of his, but in actuality it’s at least eighty-five percent relief. “I can consider that.”

“But not saying you have to hang up immediately, either.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says. Beyond that though, he doesn’t know where to start. There are so many things he should know. Things that Tony would have wished his father had bothered to ask about. Things that Pepper would have wanted her parents to consider just as relevant to her life as test scores and attendance at extracurriculars. Things that they taught Natasha about in case she needed to appear normal for a cover, but never let her actually experience. Hobbies, opinions, dreams for the future, likes and dislikes. Where do you even start, after sixteen years?

Apparently you start with the other person getting impatient and prompting him. “Aren’t you supposed to be asking icebreaker questions, like if I have a girlfriend?”

Bruce frowns. Does his so- Does Stiles think him that close-minded? “Wouldn’t you- Don’t you have a pack relationship?”

“Like an orgy? Do the Avengers have a team relationship?”

Bruce isn’t sure if Stiles is being disingenuous, and while he’s trying to figure it out the silence speaks for itself.

“Wow. Oh holy wow. Uh, okay. I promise I won’t tell my Twitter feed. Not that they’d believe me. Wow. That would be really hot, if you weren’t like my father now.”

“It’s not all of us,” Bruce hastens to add. “Clint has a wife and kids. Sam has a girlfriend. It’s-”

Stiles interrupts. “As much as it pains me to say this, and it does, to my very core. Like having to apologise to Finstock for writing off-topic essays for econ, that’s how much it pains me. But despite that, I gotta say don’t tell me. Because if you tell me I will compelled to imagine it, because every single Avenger is stunningly sexy, besides Vision, maybe, and my brain will instantly go to the bras and jockstraps place. And since I’m pretty sure it’s like, illegal to think of you naked, let’s not.”

“Okay?”

Stiles doesn’t take Bruce’s agreeal as the end of topic though. “Are incesty thoughts illegal? Do you know? Does it have to be illegal if most people are just naturally skeeved out by it? That’s like saying impaling your own eyeball with a knitting needle is illegal. Normally the shudder and ‘gaaaah’ factor is enough to stop it, right?”

Bruce chuckles, heartily. So Stiles doesn’t just ramble when he’s unsettled. It’s his core interaction setting. Bruce likes that. He grew up with mixed periods of shouting and silence. Banter and meaningless yacking make him feel comfortable. He’ll listen as long as Stiles feels like chatting. He doesn’t need Clint to tell him it’s best practice, he just wants to.

***

It’s two days later when Tony literally runs into his lab.

“Tony?”

The man makes a shoving motion and all Bruce’s data is gone from the smart wall. Instead Tony’s pulled up... Twitter?

“I don’t care about trending topics, Tony. Even if it’s about you.”

“Just look!” Tony points emphatically at the wall while JARVIS highlights something.

@TStarkOffical Stiles Stilinski is missing. We need help, Bruce. #Avengers #SHIELD #Terrorism

“Why wouldn’t Scott just call?” If it was an emergency he should have called. Is this a test? Maybe Scott wants to see how he’ll respond. If he cares. 

“Maybe he couldn’t.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. Tony’s reply doesn’t make sense. “I gave Stiles my phone number.”

“So what? Stiles had his phone stolen by the bad guy. Or Scott’s a rare specimen who doesn’t spy on his loved ones, not even to memorise celebrity phone numbers. Either way, it doesn’t matter. We can call him. JARVIS?”

The dialtone doesn’t even last a full ring.

“Do you know half of my friends are missing right now?” Scott screams into the phone. “Erica and Boyd are still gone. Allison and her dad went somewhere. And now Stiles is gone. I don’t know how many hours he’s been gone, his dad is still at work and I just got home from summer school. I don’t even know if it’s your kidnapper or ours. But I can’t take it anymore! I’m done! Not Stiles, okay? Not Stiles!”

“It won’t be Stiles,” Bruce manages to say. The words are hot clotting blood on his tongue. He knows he can’t promise anything.

“You have to- You need to- I promised him we’d never involve his dad, not after Matt got all those deputies killed. I have to keep that promise but, but you don’t. You can tell whoever you want, as long as you save him. Tell me you will.”

“It won’t be Stiles,” he repeats. He refuses to let that happen.

Anything else Scott might have to say Bruce doesn’t hear, not with his hands at his sides, clenched into fists and getting tighter around the plastic casing of his phone. His mother was stolen from him. His son -a man with half his mother’s face and half his boyfriend’s attitude- his son will not go the same way. No matter what he has to do.

Bruce sees green. The Hulk bellows and Bruce can hear clothes ripping.

When he comes back to, naked head pounding and short term memory blighted out he’s in the middle of a street. The Avengers -minus Clint-, Pepper, and about a million civilians are around him. Only Tony is costumed, no doubt thanks to the sensors embedded in his wrists. Natasha is dressed in sheets, ignoring Steve’s blushing offer of the t-shirt off his back. There are hundred of pictures being taken. They probably won’t make it onto the internet, JARVIS will monitor for that particular brand of asshole. And it’s not the primary concern, anyway.

“What happened?”

Pepper explains. “Hulk burst into the room, shouted NO! NOW! at us, and picked us up to put under his arm. Since Tony was already under the other one, we didn’t struggle. Until we got outside, at least. We only got let go because Steve followed our location shouting ‘they need weapons first’.”

“It was hard to see, tucked in your armpit, but I think you kicked Thor out here. Like a soccer ball.” Tony smirks, expression visible with his faceplate in the upright position. “JARVIS, remind me to call him Pele the next time I see the big guy.”

“I can confirm that,” Natasha says over Tony’s attempt at lightening the mood.

“What’s the situation?” Steve asks, Captain America persona sliding on like a pen cap, regardless of his troops being a range of inappropriately dressed.

“The werewolves didn’t save him. Scott doesn’t even know who took him, their end or ours.” Just saying the words is enough to make his skin tinge green, but he doesn’t yet lose the capacity to think. 

Unfortunately Tony speaks next, and what he has to say isn’t particularly calming. “JARVIS just figured it out. It’s our side. Which is good, actually. Who’d know what the fuck to do with furry little night-walkers, but Hill’s planned for him, remember?”

“I won’t let Ross ruin two generations of Banners.” In front of Stiles he’ll always respect the Sheriff, but alone with only his team Bruce can say what he feels. Stiles is his. Ross took Stiles. Ross _took_ Stiles.

“Bruce, we’re going go get dressed, then come back.”

Ross took Stiles.

“Bruce? Bruce! Hulk?”

Bruce comes to the second time pinned on his back, something exceedingly heavy on his chest. He gives himself a moment to worry about Hulk-proof strapping before he gathers the nerve to open his eyes and assess the situation. It’s Mjolnir. He’s on the floor of a jet of some kind, one of the ones with bench seating and a separate cockpit and not much else. Tony’s standing a few feet away, still in the armor, but with his faceplate up. He’s hardly even sweaty. Either Ironman didn’t have to get very hands on in this battle, or things have already wrapped up. Or, an unlikely third option, Ross took Stiles far away and they haven’t even begun yet, and Hulk got bored with the lack of smashing.

“Where are we?” There’s nothing distinguishable through the sliver of window he can see if he angles his neck to its very extreme. 

“Beale Air Force Base. Or at least what’s left of it, anyway. Hulk and Thor got a tad upset when they wouldn’t admit Ross was here. Rhodey’s gonna be pissed, but YOLO, right?”

“Did we get-?”

Tony interrupts before Bruce can finish his desperate question. “Stiles is being patched up by Nat and Falcon. He was passed out at first, and they weren’t sure if he’d be more comfortable with a guy or girl. You were too mad to come. Hence the hammer. I guess you can’t get up until Thor comes back. Sorry, but we weren’t sure how PTSD’y the kid would be, and Hulk’s not exactly baby-touch.”

“Where is he?” Thor he means, this time. Bruce wants to get up. He wants to see the ruin of the man who tried to hurt his son. He wants to see his son. He wishes he could want the second _more_ than the first but he’s not built for peace, and if he’s not striving for it it slips away like alcohol evaporating.

“Cap and Thor are tracking down a few people that probably knew what was going on, and didn’t think to inform anyone. Haven’t they ever heard of a oversight committee?” Tony grins savagely, and Bruce can at least be content with the thought that he’s not the only one feeling vicious.

Still, that doesn’t make sense. Why would Thor go out and fight without his primary weapon? Bruce gestures to his chest. “But-” 

“Widow lent Thor a gun. It was very nice of her.”

“Ross?”

“Dead. Super dead. Sort of a paste, actually. That’s why they went off to find others with info. Between ‘raagh, I’m a pissed off god’ and ‘I’m the king of America and morality and your choices have hurt my feelings’ they’ll learn anything Hill might have questions about.”

So. Hulk killed him. He finally found something more important than not hurting Betty. Good.

Bruce lays on the floor of the transport, breathing shallowly, Mjolnir not really allowing for more. He’s actually oddly content with the situation as Tony’s explained it. Stiles will be brought back to him, and every other issue has come to a conclusion. He should be worried that Natasha is with his son, worried about the unfathomable level of awkwardness and pain that might cause. He’s not. He’s willing to bet - no. He’s absolutely certain that she’s in Black Widow mode, completing the objective of making sure the target won’t drop dead. For all that might weigh on her later, for now she’s a composite professional. No doubt about it. The question is, what’s the first thing Tony’s going to say to the teen who’s effectively his stepson? Tony’s never really spoken about the first conversation he and Rhodey had in Afghanistan, after weeks and weeks of being a hostage. Bruce can only assume that Rhodey aimed for comfort. He can only assume that Tony himself will try for it now.

He hears people come in before he sees them. Three sets of feet, but Tony isn’t slamming the faceplate down and getting ready for round two, so it must not be more of Ross’s men. They come closer, and closer, until he can see. Stiles is a maybe a yard away from Bruce’s hip. Sam and Natasha are bracing him from either side. There are bruises blooming on his face, and a butterfly bandage holding the skin of his cheekbone together. His shirt is sliced down the middle, but held together with surgical tape; evidently he didn’t want to borrow a military tee, not even for a moment.

“You didn’t come to find me. I’m so used to Derek hovering on the edge of an emergency and pretending he doesn’t care about anyone.”

“I care,” Bruce says hoarsely.

Stiles takes in the scene before him. “Yeah, obviously. I mean you came to Avenge me, right? I was just saying you didn’t come to get me. Except now I get it. Wow. Is Thor’s hammer really that heavy? Even to the Hulk? No wonder he has biceps. Damn.”

“Are you okay?” Bruce would really like to be running his hands over his kid’s body, Nat and Sam’s field skills be damned, but he’s pinned to the fucking floor with Thor nowhere in sight.

Stiles shrugs, and very obviously doesn’t make a face at the pain. “Psshaw. I told you, I’ve been kidnapped and fucked up before. That douche made my friends watch. This douche was way more impersonal, he just had a bunch of military guys watching. That douche electrocuted me. This douche injected me with something.”

Suddenly Bruce is thrashing against the hammer, cursing it for not letting him up. He’s not sure his body has a third transformation in it, not sure if he physically can without collapsing or falling into a coma, but his fury is expanding like a mushroom cloud. His fury doesn’t care what it might be doing to him.

“Relax!” Natasha snaps.

Sam’s comment is more comforting. “Bruce, come on, man. We don’t think it was your blood.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It was probably just saline. I get dehydrated when I get held hostage.”

No one laughs. Not even Tony. Apparently the emotion-avoiding snark isn’t as entertaining from the other side. But no one tells the teen it’s not funny either. Between the four of them they understand coping mechanisms. The only one of their current team who might chastise doesn’t come inside until a minute later, around when Stiles is unlooping a bandaged arm around Natasha’s neck. He nearly falls over but doesn’t seem to care, preoccupied with patting down first the left side of his cargo pants, than the right.

“Son of a bitch! That douche took my phone! I had high scores on there. Fuck. I need to call Scott. You think is place is old enough to have pay phones?” Stiles looks at Steve and Natasha in turn. “You’re both skin tight, no pocket room for an iPhone. Sperm-dad is naked. And-”

“And I am a walking communication system,” Tony completes for him. “JARVIS?”

“Already done, sir.”

The sound of the phone ringing fills the air, and Stiles backs away from Sam as well. Bruce would laugh at how the kid seems to be pressing his face against Tony like a literal giant phone, if he couldn’t see how Stiles’ limp is more of a hobble, how his hand is absentmindedly on his ribs, probably bruised or cracked.

Scott answers furiously. “I don’t know why you took him, not Isaac to complete the set, but you seriously underestimated our Pack, buddy.”

“How?” Stiles asks. “How could our crap-Pack be underestimated? Did Derek recruit someone? Did he recruit my dad, or the deputies? Tell me you didn’t tell my dad!”

“Stiles?” Scott gasps into the air. It’s the voice of a teenager let down by the world a hundred times, not wanting to let himself believe in a hundred-and-first chance.

“Yeah, buddy.”

Bruce’s eardrum splits when the room echoes with a howl. He’s not the only one who doesn’t appreciate it. Natasha doesn’t react, but Steve claps his hands over his ears and Tony curses.

Stiles winces. “Scott, you’re on speaker. Watch the volume.”

“Nope,” Scott replies firmly. “I had to let the Pack know. I thought Derek was going to rip off Deaton’s arm when he said there aren’t convenient locator spells, and the answer hadn’t changed since he was asked about Erica and Boyd. And Peter’s scouting in the woods. Since when does Peter give a crap about you, no offense?”

“Probably since he tried to make me his beta.” And that would be the noise of shock and rage too strong for words. Stiles immediately attempts to soothe his best friend, and lucky Bruce doesn’t know exactly what that means -he can guess, but there’s plausible deniability- or Stiles would probably be talking him down too. “Calm down, man. I said no.”

“We’re talking about that when you get home!” Scott orders.

Demonstrating that he’s got a bad case of hypervigilance -like answering the door with a baseball bat nearby wasn’t confirmation enough- Stiles twists instantaneously towards the noise as Thor comes clomping into the plane. He waits a good beat, until no one else reacts, until Thor is removing Mjolnir and therefore proving his identity beyond reproach, before he can reply to Scott. “About that. Scott, could you Paypal me some money for the Greyhound? I’ll get you back next paycheck.”

Steve shakes his head. “Kid, you are out of your mind if you think we’re letting you bus home.”

“That’s them?” Scott asks. “Thank you for saving him!”

“I would’a been fine! It’s not like I would have said yes to toxic blood transfusion and being irradiated.”

“Exactly! That’s why you would have died! Creepy old men who kidnap are also creepy old men that kill!”

“Gerard didn’t,” Stiles points out.

Scott is having none of it. “Gerard’s message was ‘I can touch anything that I want’. Ross’s message was ‘look at me, I’ve got a monster’!”

“Scott!” Stiles hisses. “Speakerphone!”

“Oh yeah. Sorry Mr Banner. No offense.”

Before Bruce can say it’s fine, he understands, Stiles replies, “lots of offense. Apologise or we’ll see how many people think you’re a monster.”

“Sorry Mr Banner,” Scott repeats. “You saved a lot of people on Chitauri day.”

“And in Sokovia.”

“And in Sokovia,” Scott parrots with an air of doing it just to placate his obnoxious friend. Bruce knows the feeling. He thinks he could like Scott, if Stiles ever lets him come to Beacon Hills again.

“Anyway... So you’re going to give him a ride home?”

Tony opens his mouth and Thor cuts him off before he can start bragging about his jet. “Yes. We shall.”

“Actually, can you hide my Jeep in the woods and I’ll just find a hotel and you can tell Dad I went on a San Francisco road trip? And if he asks why, tell him it’s because I’m learning to dress gay to prove a point.”

“But why? Not the second thing, I know you were pissed off when he said that. The other thing.” Bruce can practically hear Scott’s confused frown.

“I’m gonna be covered in bruises, worse than last time, and he doesn’t need to see that. Last time I barely got him to not arrest everyone on the ‘other lacrosse team’.”

“Okay, but could you hide in my house? I’ve got some things to tell you not over the phone.”

“What? Dude, no. I’m not living in your attic for two weeks until the bruises fade. Just text me if you don’t wanna tell me.”

“Stiles,” Scott whines.

“Just text me, you big weirdo.”

“Allison’s gone, and you were my anchor when everyone turned to try and find you and I love you.”

“I love you too man.”

“No Stiles. I think I Allison love you.”

Stiles’ eyes bulge. He slaps his hand over Ironman’s arc reactor and groans, “what the fuuuuck?”

“Stiles, whatever you did, that’s not the mute button,” Scott informs him.

Stiles glares at Tony’s chest like it’s betrayed him. Then he takes a step back and pokes Tony in the chest plate. “You. Richest man in the world. Get me home.” Stiles take a few ragged steps and pokes Thor. “You. Man that can literally fly as long as he’s holding a hammer. Fly me home.” He turns a full 180 to Steve. “You. Built-est man in North America. Piggy-back-ride me home.”

“Or, uh, you could just stay in, uh, wherever you are right now, for a while?”

“Chill, Scott. I’m not yelling at the Avengers because I’m _mad_ at you. I’m yelling at them because I want to come home. And possibly yell at you. Because I feel like I could have avoided a lot of Lydia based heartbreak if you’d said this freshman year.”

Scott laughs, even if it sounds kind of teary. “Don’t front, man. You still love Lydia. I love Allison. I think it’s gonna be complicated. That’s why I wanted to wait until you were home to talk.”

Everyone in the room gets that. It’s not like they went from single to five person relationship in fifteen minutes.

“Don’t worry about it man, we’ll figure it out. We’ll talk as soon as physically possible, I promise. While watching a completely awful action movie so we can avoid eye contact, even. It’ll be totally great. Bye Scott.”

The moment that Scott returns the goodbye and JARVIS cuts their connection, Stiles starts up again. This time he’s angled at Sam. “You with literal wings, get me home. You-”

“You realise that I own this here air vehicle, right?” Tony asks, eyes bulging slightly as he leans forward as if to physically impart the knowledge. Bruce isn’t sure what’s more adorable, Tony trying to impress Stiles, or Tony being so intent on lavishing gifts like a new stepfather that he’s somehow forgotten the entire globe knows he owns things.

“Then I guess you know what you need to do with it,” Stiles snaps. He sways a moment later, like all his energy went into giving Stark-the-billionaire orders. Half the room lunges, but Steve gets there first and immediately replicates the carry Sam had on his son earlier.

No one is surprised that Nat practically flings herself into the pilot’s seat. They all know how to fly this thing but only one of them has a desperate need to avoid unnecessary contact with Stiles. Who is sitting on one of the bench seats half propped up by Steve and certainly isn’t begging for Nat’s help, about the only extreme that could call her back. 

Thanks to Tony’s engineering skill the plane is nearly disturbingly fast. According to Pepper initial talks with commercial airlines fell through after alpha testing proved the average passenger felt uneasy about the trip duration differing so greatly from the norm. Natasha lands almost exactly where the pilot had the other day. Either it’s just a good place to land, or she was paying attention to Maria’s flight plan. Bruce should probably be more concerned about her mindset, but he’s busy thinking. Bruce doesn’t know how he’s supposed to say goodbye. Figuratively- he doesn’t want to part so soon, not knowing when he’ll see Stiles again. Or even _if_ he’ll see him. Maybe the kidnapping will be worse in hindsight, enough for Stiles to declare it the first and last straw both. Literally too- should he shake hands? Say he’ll wait for a call, and stick to his word this time? Hug Stiles? Seriously, how he says goodbye in this situation he does not know.

“So I don’t know if Bruce told you this before, but you can visit. If you want, that is.” It’s so like Sam, steering situations by offering choices. Bruce isn’t sure whose idea it was to pick up the man while dropping off Pepper but he appreciates the calm.

“I would. I really would, if only to have something to brag about to Jackson when school starts. Except two of my friends are missing and I kind of need to be at home to spy on my dad for leads.”

Bruce can feel the room of teammates glancing at him to see how he’ll react. He’s stonefaced. It’s not like he didn’t know Mr Stilinski comes first for Stiles.

Steve breaks the stare-off first. “What do you mean missing?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, and just in case Steve doesn’t quite catch it with his peripheral vision, makes sure to lace it into his voice. “Dude. What do you think I mean?”

Tony’s struggling not to laugh. Bruce isn’t surprised that Tony likes his attitude. Not one iota.

“More details, perhaps, son of Stilinski and Banner.”

“Sure, okay. So Derek has particularly bad leadership. He’s very ‘strength and control through pain’ and budding baby betas get over that shit quick. So Erica and Boyd decided to find a better Pack. Except then they got kidnapped and tortured by the same guy who got all up on me. Gerard let me go, to prove a point, be a message, but probably would have tortured them to death, ‘cuz he doesn’t really approve of werewolves. But Chris, Gerard’s kid, that kinda crossed a line with him. He says that he let them go and we believe him. But they didn’t come home, and there’s this other Pack out to mess with Derek. What better than to kidnap his troops? Except I can’t tell Dad any of this. He doesn’t know about the whole-” Stiles flops an arm and hisses as it aggravates an injury. “So instead I just gotta monitor dispatch, see if there’s anything about gangs or a ton of dead deer or bodies. You know, suspicious stuff. And if there is, get there before he does to make sure the scene is clear of anything important.”

“And you do this often?”

“Not much of a choice, is there?” Stiles gestures again, hisses again. “You guys get it.”

“We’re not sixteen.”

“Captain America and Black Widow were both well into the deep end by sixteen.” Stiles cracks a grin. “Don’t be ageist. And open the door, would you? I need to go find out if my best friend wants to be my boyfriend and possibly have a foursome if all our dreams come true.”

Natasha releases the lock even as Steve opens his mouth to be a big hypocrite about being too young to fight the good fight. It’s a sign of respect; she’s judged Stiles and found him capable. Some combination of skills and motivation and determination in totality high enough to be considered an adult with the right to his own decisions. The open door might be forgiveness for himself too. Natasha’s sentiment doesn’t run deep. If Stiles is an adult worthy of respect he’s not a child who needs coddling. Which means he’s not a child Bruce hid and lied about.

Of course some people are more prone to protect than others. The moment the door whirs shut again Tony twists to face the majority of them. “So we’re finding his little wolfie buddies, right?”

“From what has been said he is a warrior who knows his prey far better than I, or we.”

“Come on Cap. You want in, right? You can’t tell me you don’t know what it’s like to have a missing friend.” Sam glares but Tony is unrepentant. If he doesn’t have Thor’s vote, he needs Steve’s.

“We don’t even know if they’re alive.”

Natasha shakes her head once, with authority. “There’d be no gain in murdering the enemy’s loved ones. Stiles was right. They’ll be used for something much more than a dismembered pile on the doorstep. They’re being held.”

Tony winces, one of the many with negative experience of being held. Of course, he immediately layers over the trauma with bravado. “If they’re being held they can be found.”

It hits Bruce then, for the thousandth time, how much he loves them both, and Pepper at home. They’re all so broken, in ways he can and can’t empathise with, but they never let it stop them. Bruce has the feeling Stiles is going to be like that too. All he can hope for for his son is that Scott -and Allison and Lydia, maybe- are Stiles’ Nat-Pepper-Tony. Not everyone deserves the kind of people that have circled around Bruce. He might not even deserve them. But Stiles does.


End file.
